K sits with her in that silence, working on the cigarette slowly; at first, he's waiting for her to pick up where she left off, to keep asking him questions that less need answers than they need to be asked, to vent whatever anger is left. He stays still at first when she reaches out but, when he realizes what she's doing, he offers his hand out to her for inspection - and, if he's honest, for connection at all.

She's not sure what he needs or how to help, but those few minutes of quiet, of sitting with him and expecting nothing even if it's just the short term, helps immensely.

"I... woke up here. In the bathtub," he starts, quiet. "All the injuries were gone. I only remembered that much this morning, and the rest is still - fuzzy." Which, for a replicant with acute memory and RAM modifications and no repair facilities he's aware of for what he is, is distressing.